Interim Daydream
by azriona
Summary: Returned to the Doctor, settling into their new relationship, Rose has made an unwelcome discovery: the Doctor isn’t kissing her anymore. And she has no idea why he’s stopped. Part 1.5 in the Crossroads Series but works on its own, too.


**Disclaimer:** Doctor Who is not mine. It's very sad.  
**Warnings:** PG-13

**As part of the Crossroads series, this story is not in any way spoilery for Season 4. Read without fear.**

**A/N:** Set about six months after the conclusion of Reflections, but it's not entirely necessary to read that before reading this. (Although by all means do, because reviews make my day.) The story was inspired by a certain icon of David Tennant breathing. The image was taken from Season 4, episode 3, though, so click at your own risk. Not spoilery, though, unless you weren't aware that the Doctor breathes. If I knew who did that icon, I would build a statue in their honor, because it is MADE of awesome.

* * *

**Interim**

_**Daydream**_

Rose remembered the Last Kiss.

She didn't realize it was the Last Kiss, and it was several months before it occurred to her that there even _was_ such a thing as a Last Kiss. It was after the Doctor had turned his head at the last moment to rebuff her last attempt to settle her lips on his, it had at last clicked:

He didn't kiss her anymore, hadn't in months, no idea why he'd stopped, not a word spoken between them about it.

It was all very frustrating, considering the first six months since Rose had come through the crossroads, she'd been kissed on a near-daily basis. _Good_ kisses too, the sort that pushed every last thought out of her head, including the ones about how breathing is generally speaking, a good thing. It was a wonder she hadn't asphyxiated.

("Do Gallifreyans have gills?" she'd demanded, and the Doctor had laughed.

"No, why?"

"Because you never come up for air, and you still do all right."

"Oh, that's the respiratory by-pass system. Handy, isn't it? Let me demonstrate—")

And then…almost six months to the _day_, no more kisses. End of story, game over, full stop.

If Rose thought very hard, she could remember the days after the Last Kiss. The Doctor had moped around, hadn't spoken much, complained that he might be coming down with a cold. He'd taken her to see Sarah Jane Smith, who was happy to see them, and to Martha Jones, who was at least happy to see _him_. He'd even taken her to Captain Jack, who tried to kiss Rose which only resulted in the visit being cut incredibly short.

And _still_ the Doctor hadn't kissed her. So not only was she not allowed to kiss Captain Jack, she wasn't being kissed by the Doctor either.

Life was entirely unfair.

They'd be standing alone somewhere, caught in between death and dismemberment. Or perhaps they were on the Tardis in the garden, with the petals falling soft around them, comfortable and complete. Either way, the Doctor's eyes would lock on hers, and her nose would fill with his honey-and-wool scent, and find herself leaning forward while he reached for her cheek.

And just at the very last minute, he'd turn away, bounding to the other side of the room, or pulling out the sonic screwdriver and buzzing the lock on her handcuffs, and the moment would be over. She'd want to scream and kick and knock him senseless to the floor, but it was pointless, because the Doctor had stopped kissing her.

Just when she felt she couldn't stand another minute of not being kissed...she'd remember the Last.

* * *

It wasn't especially romantic. If Rose had known it was going to be the Last Kiss, she would have held off for the Tardis garden, or the beaches on Andropolis Seven, or at the very least, the apple grass on New Earth. But no, the Last Kiss was on a bench in a park around the corner from the dry cleaner on Rigel Nine where the Doctor took his suits to be pressed.

At least it was a _pretty_ park.

"Aren't you a Time Lord?" Rose demanded as they sat on the bench. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around her, but the Doctor was stretched out, barely sitting so much as laying on the bench, happy as could be.

"Of course!"

"So why can't we just hop in the Tardis and jump forward an hour and pick up your suits then?"

"That would be an abuse of the privilege of time travel."

"Says you. It's a logical use of tools available, says me."

"Ah, Rose, look around you! A beautiful day, a nice park, kids flying kites over there – what more could you want?"

"A coat."

"I told you to bring a sweater."

"It's not fair!" she wailed. "My body temperature is lower, you wouldn't think I'd get cold so easily."

"Poor Rose!" He reached over and pulled her to him. "You're still warmer than I am."

"Only by three degrees," sniffed Rose, and burrowed her nose into his chest. "Brr. You're not much good for keeping me warm."

"Aren't I?"

"No," countered Rose, and she looked up to see the familiar dark glint in his eye. "Oh, no. You are _not_ kissing me here. Not in front of kids flying kites."

"They're watching their kites, not me."

"No!"

"But Rose—"

"_No_."

"It'll make you warmer," he whispered, his lips brushing over hers, and she gave in as his breath ghosted over her skin, one hand weaving itself into her hair, running circles on her scalp. His fingers left a tingling tickle in their wake, and Rose closed her eyes, sighing.

"Kids," she murmured, and was profoundly grateful that the Doctor ignored her and continued dropping soft kisses down her neck to her shoulder, where his other hand pushed her collar aside. He fastened his mouth to the pulse point and nipped lightly. Rose shuddered.

"What was that about kisses, Rose?"

"Can't talk. Melting."

"A minute ago you were cold."

"Stop talking and keep kissing me like that."

"But there's kids flying kites, Rose!"

She groaned and opened her eyes so that she could see just enough to grab his ears with her hands. It was almost a pity, she thought, that he hadn't kept his old ears through his regeneration, it would have been far easier to pull him up to her mouth if he had, but these worked well enough.

"Ow!" he yelped, or at least tried to yelp before the sound was buried by her mouth. She slipped her fingers from his ears, working them into his hair, holding him close. He smelled of wool and honey and dust and Doctor, and his mouth tasted like parsley and salt.

He stopped arguing the moment their lips touched – he usually did, although not always – and he sighed into the kiss, rolling his tongue around hers before pulling just enough away to lick at the tip of her tongue. His arms shifted, wrapping around her waist and pulling her onto his lap, so that she faced him with one thigh awkwardly pressed against his stomach. His hands drifted upward, stopping just at her breasts, his thumbs only barely ghosting over her nipples. Rose gasped into the kiss, her hearts tightening just a bit. She didn't dare move in any direction, but waited to see what his hands did next. To her disappointment, the Doctor slid his fingers to her back, lazily trailing them up and down her shoulder blades, leaving ticklish wakes in their path.

It was about then that it began to rain – or at least, Rose thought it had. She couldn't be sure, but she was fairly certain that their skin became wet, and her fingers in his hair became slick. She could feel the water like drumbeats on her arms, and the whole world pulsed as water ran over them. She dropped feathery kisses with the rain around his lips, paused to graze his lower lip with her teeth, and slipped her hands to the first button on his shirt, with every intention of opening it.

"_Excuse me!_"

The Doctor stood up, and Rose tumbled to the ground, caking her jeans and trainers in mud. She might have been angry under any other circumstance, but the kisses had left a warm knot in her stomach, and really, the sudden realization that it was _raining _left her too shocked to do anything but look up. The very large, very orange woman who had interrupted them stared at the two of them, both sets of arms crossed and with a very sour expression on her peach-colored face.

"Ah, yes?" asked the Doctor blithely, sticking his hands in his pockets and quickly flapping his overcoat closed in front of him. Rose tried not to smirk. Her leg had been there; she knew what he was hiding.

"This is a public park, I'll have you know, and there are _children_ with _kites_ very close by."

"Hope not, wouldn't do to have them struck by lightening," said the Doctor, glancing up at the rain. "Rose? Fancy going somewhere dry?"

"Ah," said Rose, but he didn't give her time to answer – he reached down and pulled her up, and without another word they were running through the rain, laughing as they left the woman and the park bench behind.

* * *

The next day, the Doctor remained locked in the medical bay for an absurd amount of time. Rose knew he had been performing his various experiments in there, but he'd never once asked her for more blood samples, so she assumed that those tests were long since over.

But when came out that day, his expression was as sour as the one on the orange lady in the park. He drank copious amounts of tea, banged on the control panels with more vigor, and whenever Rose asked him a question, answered too brightly with too much hopping about.

It was months before Rose realized that he hadn't kissed her again.

Not since the Last Kiss.

She dreamed about it sometimes, the rain falling around them and the children in the distance with kites flying above. She straddled him on the bench, held his face in her hands, towered over him and controlled the kiss entirely, in a way she hadn't done before. The large orange woman was no more bothersome than a bit of orange lint, and Rose flicked her away with a single finger. Rose managed to unbutton that first button, and the second, kissing the exposed skin as she went, hearing the Doctor groan and _feeling_ him shudder beneath her lips. His hands would rest on her hips, his long fingers impossibly searching her, pulling her apart and slipping her clothing away. Generally they were both completely naked and writhing together before she'd be rudely awoken from her dream, most often by the Doctor shouting for her to hand him his screwdriver, or hold down a lever, or please pay attention when we're being captured by Sontorans, if you could?

"If you won't do it in real life, at least let me _dream_ about it!" Rose shouted at him one day, her frustration overcoming absolutely everything else. She threw the screwdriver at his head and stormed away, wondering how much cold water the Tardis kept for showers.

The Doctor stared after her, and had no idea what she meant.


End file.
